


That Great Big Hill of Hope - What's Going On

by Awahili



Series: Determinant [13]
Category: Zoo (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 08:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11203890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awahili/pseuds/Awahili
Summary: "In every moment of choice, you create a new destiny." The team has to learn how to adjust after losing Jamie and their only hope for a cure. Six months after the plane crash, Mitch gets a phone call that will change his life. A Jamie/Mitch rewrite





	That Great Big Hill of Hope - What's Going On

**Author's Note:**

> Determinant: a gene or other factor that determines the character and development of a cell or group of cells in an organism.

_Somewhere in the North Atlantic_

Anik loved the ocean. Since he was a boy sitting by his father’s side, he loved the vast unknown that it represented. Beneath the waves an entire world existed below his own, and young Anik had been fascinated by the multitude of creatures in its depths. 

He’d fished these waters since before he could walk and, despite its unpredictable and fickle nature, he knew his small corner of the ocean better than he knew his own home. So when his aging eyes caught the silhouette of something bobbing in the waves, his curious nature drove him to investigate.

It was a crate, no bigger than one of his traps under the dock at home. But it held no aquatic creature within, despite its drenched coat. He knew what it was, and his mind supplied the word even as he knew it couldn’t be. 

_Posivak_

How it had gotten into his ocean didn’t matter. What mattered was the small creature needed help. It mewled pathetically as Anik fished the crate out and into his boat. He took that as a good sign. If he could make noise, he would likely survive. But what to do with him? With the madness that had taken hold of the animals, giving him over to the authorities was not an option - they would kill him before Anik could utter a word. But that left two options: leave him to the ocean, or take him back home. He glanced out at the horizon, charged with various shades of pink and orange as the sun rose in the distance. The ocean would take him, wrap him in its cold embrace and take him away from the warmth of the sun. It wasn’t a fate Anik wished on anyone. Home it was.

“ _Well, little guy_ ,” he muttered, “ _you are coming with me it seems_.”

There would be no fishing today. The cub needed to be dry and warm, neither of which could be found on Anik’s boat. As he turned the rudder, pointing his bow back toward home, his eye caught another shadow, visible now only because the sun had risen fully. At first Anik thought it just the normal flotsam that he found almost daily, reminders that the humans that should have been stewards of the natural world were the worst perpetrators of its destruction. He always pulled this from the ocean as well; he had a very large, very odd collection of debris in the space behind his home. He grabbed his hook and steered toward it, ready to pluck it out as he passed by.

The shock of red hair almost made him fall out of his boat. He reversed his momentum then killed the engine, gliding to a stop by the slight woman clinging desperately to a large piece of what he could only assume had been a plane. Anik wondered if she was from the same vessel as the cub. A hunter perhaps, or a scientist? It didn’t matter. She, too, would find shelter in Anik’s home. 

He pulled her carefully from the water, mindful of the jagged piece of metal sticking from her leg. She was waterlogged and delirious, but the slight movement of her head and the flutter of her eyelashes told Anik she was a fighter. The cold water had stifled the blood flow from her wound, but as she warmed it would worsen. He searched his onboard first aid kit for anything to help, but the best he could do was a large square of gauze. He ripped it and packed it around the metal, refusing to even think about pulling it from her leg until they were somewhere more stable.

“ _This has certainly been an interesting morning_ ,” he muttered to his two companions. He shrugged off his own coat and winced against the bitter ocean breeze as he draped it over the woman. She needed it far more than he did. It was getting colder now as the summer heat bled away in the autumn winds. Her head turned slightly as she coughed up a mouthful of water, mumbling something Anik couldn’t make out over the roar of his engine as he sped toward the coast.

She was unconscious again as he expertly maneuvered into the small channel that led toward home. The dock was left untouched by the animals, and Anik was smart enough to be thankful for small favors. His truck was under the cover of a shed nearby, and it took two trips to transfer his new guests to the vehicle. Luckily for them, the animals seemed to be busy elsewhere. 

Anik navigated the small dirt path from the dock to his house easily enough. When he reached the gate he checked the surroundings thoroughly before jumping out quickly to open it. He could hear growls in the distance, and his hands were shaking as he unlocked the gate and pushed it open. Movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to move just a bit quicker back to the truck, and by the time he had driven through the gate he could see a lumbering figure cresting the hill behind him. The bear snarled as Anik shut the gate, locking him away from his kill. The beast reared up and slammed his paws against the fence in anger. Anik merely smirked and wagged a finger at him as the metal moved under the weight of the beast but held.

“ _Not today_.”

With the animals safely locked behind the fence, Anik could breathe easier as he steered his truck to the two-story house sitting in the middle of the property. The home had been in his family for three generations; his grandfather had built it almost a hundred years ago. Anik had been the only son of an only son, and with his wife gone there was no one to leave it to when he passed. The thought was a sad one, but not one Anik let himself dwell on often. _Everything has its time and purpose_ , his father had always said. _You will discover yours one day, Anik_.

He looked at the woman slumped against the seat. Was this his purpose? To pull a single woman from the ocean after almost sixty years of life? Was he saving her only to doom her to death when his supplies inevitably ran out? Would she even survive the night?

 _Too many questions_ , Anik scolded himself. He needed to take care of the immediate problems; everything else would work themselves out one way or another. He left the woman in the truck and ran inside, turning down the bed that had once been his grandmother’s and making sure there was a fire going in the small wood burning stove in the corner. He gathered every extra blanket he had in the house, setting two aside for the cub and piling the rest on the bed before returning outside.

She was lighter now that some of the water had drained from her clothes. Anik had no trouble lifting her up and carrying her upstairs. He would need to remove the metal from her leg and keep watch for infection. He silently thanked his mother for insisting he learn how to properly care for and dress wounds. Being so far from civilization, she had often been the only doctor available for him and his family.

He left her on the bed and went back for the crate, setting it down in the center of the family room just in front of the fireplace. He pried the top of the crate open and reached in for the soggy blanket inside, replacing it with an old threadbare quilt. The cub barely lifted its head, and Anik knew he needed to hurry with the woman if he wanted to save both of them.

He gathered everything he would need and whispered an ancient healing prayer as he ascended the stairs to see to the first of his patients. It was going to be a long day.

_North Atlantic Ocean  
CCGS Bartlett, Canadian Coast Guard vessel_

“Sir? Sir, can you hear me?” Mitch came to slowly. _God, how much did I drink_? But this didn’t feel like a hangover. His head was pounding, but upon further inspection so was his whole body. He tried to sit up but his chest screamed with the movement and he was forced to lie back down.

“What happened?” His mind was working to recall something important, but right now all he could focus on was the piercing pain behind his eyes. He was aware of someone standing next to him, but he couldn’t raise his eyes enough to see his face.

“Sir, you have a concussion from the crash and possible broken ribs. I need you to lie still.”

_Crash? The airplane. Jamie._

“Where’s Jamie? A woman. There was a woman sitting next to me.” Getting rid of the pain in his head was suddenly at the bottom of his priority list. He tried to sit up again, and this time the man pushed back on his shoulder.

“Sir, you need to lie down.”

“No,” he looked around, taking in the tiny room packed wall to wall with cots and people in various stages of consciousness. Some of them had men or women in red jackets speaking with them, others were staring lifelessly at the ceiling, never to speak again. The entire room rocked, and Mitch realized it wasn’t due to his head injury. They were on a boat. “I need to find Jamie.” He scanned the entire area, searching for her among the living. He refused to look at the deceased, not willing to entertain the idea. But when he didn’t see her, he knew he had to. There were maybe thirty bodies lying in rows along the far wall. Most of them had been covered, but the short sheets meant he could see the tops of their heads from his position. He didn’t see any redheads and his chest burned with the sigh of relief that escaped him. He searched again, and on his second pass his eyes found a familiar figure. “Abe!”

The larger man was lying prone on a cot near the wall next to the door. His eyes were closed, and for a second Mitch feared the worst. Ignoring the protest of the medic behind him, Mitch carefully navigated the small spaces between bodies until he was close enough to see the rise and fall of Abe’s chest. He sat down gingerly, and Abe’s eyes opened. Or one of them did. The other was swollen shut, and there were dozens of tiny scrapes and cuts on his face and neck. 

“You’re alive.” His voice was rough and quiet, like he’d been screaming for days. He sat up and leaned back against the wall with only a slight wince. “I saw when they brought you in earlier, but they would not let me come to you.” There was something in his tone that made Mitch think there was more to that story, but there were more pressing matters.

“Have you seen Jamie? Jackson?”

“Jackson was moved to a critical ward because of his recent surgery. He was fine the last I saw of him.” He stopped, his eyes dropping to the blanket in his lap before rising to meet Mitch’s gaze. “I have not seen Jamie.”

“She was right next to me,” Mitch mumbled.

“She might be in the same room as Jackson,” Abe offered hopefully. _The critical ward_. It was horrible of him to hope for it, but it was better than the alternative. 

“I have to go.” Abe nodded knowingly as Mitch struggled to his feet. The boat rocked again and Mitch held out his hand to steady himself against the bulkhead. A medic was by his side almost instantly, his grip gentle but insistent around Mitch’s arm.

“Sir, you need to get back to your bed.”

“I need to find her,” he shrugged off the man’s helping hand and stumbled toward the door. “Where’s the critical ward?”

“Sir, please.”

“No!” he whirled on the young man with a snarl that would have made the leopards proud. “Take me to the critical ward.”

“I can’t,” he shook his head sadly. “Critical patients were airlifted to a larger Coast Guard vessel. There’s no way to get you there.”

“Put me on a helicopter, then.” Mitch was ready to swim if he had to.

“We are still evacuating critical patients,” the medic remained calm despite the obviously distraught man raving in his face. In any other circumstance, Mitch would applaud his patience. Right now, it was just irritating.

“Then go find me someone who can -”

“Sir,” another medic came to help, this one an older woman with a messy bun and a stern expression. “If you don’t calm down, you will be sedated. Please return to your bed.”

“No,” Mitch shook his head and lunged for the door. “I need to find her. I need to -” Hands grabbed him, and his breath caught in his throat as his chest protested the manhandling. Blood rushed in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. He thought he heard the baritone of Abe’s voice pleading with him to calm down but the only thing he could focus on was getting to Jamie. A small pinch on his arm heralded a flood of medicine; suddenly his muscles wouldn’t support his weight. The hands that had been grabbing him moved to catch him, and Mitch felt the ground fall away as his mind went black.

_New Brunswick, Canada - 15 miles south of Caraquet_

It had been a very close thing, but Anik slept well in the knowledge that both of his new guests would live through the night. The woman had been the worst, and she was still not out of the woods entirely. The wound in her leg had been bad, but so far it seemed to have escaped infection. She had lost a lot of blood when he finally had to pull the chunk of metal free, and she had awakened with a scream and feverish look in her eyes. Luckily the pain had overwhelmed her and knocked her out again, allowing Anik to sew the wound closed. 

Next had come the need to change her out of her ruined clothes. He whispered quiet words of apology as he peeled away the layers crusted with blood and seawater. He had no clothes her size, having donated all of his mother’s, so he had to settle for an old sweatshirt of his. Her underwear he left, hoping she would wake enough to take care of any necessities. 

With the blood washed away, he noted the sharp angles of her face made more prominent from lack of food and water. He would need to wake her to eat soon to give her body the energy it needed to heal properly. But now she needed to rest, and he left her to sleep as he tended to the cub.

The sun was setting as he ascended the stairs with a bowl of soup and bottle of painkillers. He set both on the table by her bed then checked her temperature. She felt neither too hot with fever or chilled from her time in the water, so Anik guessed she would be okay. 

She didn’t stir, even when he shook her shoulder. He checked her again, satisfied that she was merely sleeping deeply rather than dead. Her breath was shallow but steady, and Anik sighed.

“ _I’ve prepared this soup. It was my mother’s own recipe. It’s a shame to miss it_.” He knew she couldn’t hear him but he felt silly sitting in the room and saying nothing. She needed nourishment, needed something to sustain her as she healed, and he didn’t have the resources to administer anything through her bloodstream. He would have to do this the old way.

She would need to wake enough to swallow - he knew that from watching his grandmother often choke or gag mid-bite if she fell asleep. His mother usually sat with her, talking to her and helping her through her meal. Anik moved into the bathroom across the hall, searching beneath the sink for something that would help. The best he could find was a small bottle of peppermint oil and decided it was better than nothing. He set it on the tray with the soup and very carefully lifted the woman into a sitting position. Her head lolled dangerously, but Anik steadied her before she could slump over.

She reacted to the oil immediately, startling and jerking with a hiss of pain. Her eyes were unfocused, and he tried to keep his voice even and calm.

“ _You’re okay. You are in my home. There is no need to worry._ ”

She didn’t reply, and her eyes slid closed groggily. Anik held the peppermint oil beneath her nose once more, and this time her eyes widened and did not close. He quickly grabbed the tray and coaxed her into taking a few bites. She swallowed reflexively, but he could see she was quickly tiring. He fed her almost half the bowl before her chin dipping down her chest.

“ _Okay_ ,” he helped her lay back down and covered her with several blankets. “ _That’s enough for now. Rest._ ”

She was already unconscious by the time he turned the lights off and pulled the door closed behind him. He would check on her in a few hours and see about taking her to the bathroom. His next task was feeding the cub and finding a suitable place for him. When the woman was well enough to speak, maybe he could find out why she was traveling with a leopard cub and where she’d come from. Until then, Anik would care for both of them and do his best to keep them all alive.

_CCG Base Dartmouth  
Dartmouth, Nova Scotia_

Heavy footfalls approaching his door pulled Mitch’s thoughts out of the darkness of his own mind. It had been three days since they’d been pulled from the Atlantic, and so far only Abe had been allowed to walk the halls of the medical facility unescorted. Jackson’s restriction was understandable; his wound had ruptured and he was still recovering from the second surgery. It was a miracle he was even alive right now.

Mitch’s freedom hadn’t been restricted because of his injuries - the ribs they’d broken resuscitating him still ached but they didn’t hinder his mobility too badly. He’d been confined to his room and strapped to his bed after his third escape attempt. The search and rescue had still been ongoing, and none of the medical staff believed him when he insisted he was well enough to help. The first time he’d been scolded and escorted back to his room after trying to leave it twenty minutes after his arrival. The second time he’d been sedated once they brought him back from the lobby. 

The third time had been just that morning after Mitch had learned from the morning news that the search had been called off.

He’d made it to the courtyard, heedless of his state of dress or his lack of footwear. Even not knowing where he was or where he was going served to deter him. He would walk every inch of the base until he found someone who would listen. It had been two guards that had caught him, their attention grabbed by the half-dressed man shambling toward the street. Mitch had fought them initially, demanding to be taken to their commanding officer or whoever was in charge so he could tell them. He needed to tell them they couldn’t give up. His still-healing injuries and their elite training ended the struggle almost the same moment it began.

He’d screamed as they dragged him back to the hospital, spat profanities and pleas at the nurses who finally administered the sedative that knocked him out. He’d awakened back in his bed with the added humiliation of velcro straps around his wrists and ankles. 

The door opened and Abe’s head popped through just before the rest of him, like he was checking to see if it was safe. Mitch guessed the nurses must have told him, because his expression was a mixture of disappointment and regret. 

“How are you?” His tone, at least, was trying for something a little lighter. Mitch didn’t appreciate it. 

“Abe, get me out of these things.” He strained his wrists against the straps in demonstration.

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head sadly. “The nurses say it is for your own good.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Mitch barked. “I’m not threat to myself or others.”

“You’re a flight risk,” Abe scolded. “They say you’ve gone missing three times.” Mitch knew he knew why, so he didn’t say anything. “Mitch, I’m sor -”

“Don’t,” Mitch felt his throat close over the word, and he coughed to forcefully clear the lump there. “Don’t say it.” He turned his head to look out the window rather than the sorrowful expression on his friend’s face. Saying it made it real. Permanent. “She’s not dead.”

“Mitch,” Abe whispered. “You are a man of science. Of reason. You know that there is no possible way someone could survive three days in the ocean without a raft, without provisions. She is gone.”

Tears blurred his vision and he kept his head turned away so Abe couldn’t see. His head agreed with Abe, but his heart refused to give up. He laughed wetly at the thought. It was something he’d never even considered before her, that his heart could have any say at all in his life. His head ruled, reason and logic the only religion he ever needed. But then she’d come along and turned everything on its ear, and suddenly he had meaning for words like belief and hope. 

He felt Abe’s looming presence as the man came to stand next to the bed. “Jackson is being moved to a hospital in D.C. They have asked if we want to accompany him.”

Mitch’s eyes slammed closed, and he felt a tear track down and over his cheek to land on the bed sheets. “We can’t leave her out there.”

“She’s is not out there,” Abe laid a warm hand on Mitch’s shoulder, gaining the man’s attention before moving it to his chest. His touch was light, careful of the bruising, but Mitch felt a warmth suffuse him as he forced his eyes open to look at his friend. “She will be here, always. And here,” he lifted his hand to tap his own chest. “As long as we remember her, honor her, then she is never gone.”

Mitch swallowed thickly as a few more tears escaped. He shrugged a shoulder to wipe them from his face, cursing his confinement for the hundredth time. After a few moments of silence, he took a deep breath. “When do we leave?”

_Folsom, Louisiana  
One Week Later_

Mitch eased his foot off of the gas pedal as the speed limit dropped to thirty at the Folsom city limit. It was one of those blink-and-you-miss-it kind of towns, remarkable now only for the lack of residents milling about on the main street. The last time he’d visited, Mitch had been struck by the very Mayberry feel of the town right down to the old men sitting outside the post office and the solitary police man who patrolled up and down the street. He hadn’t spent much time in the town proper - just the few minutes it had taken him to buy the bouquet of flowers for Nancy Campbell’s gravestone and the hour or so spent at Vic’s Bar at the end of the road. Still, it felt different as he drove through the town center. Shop fronts were dark or - in the case of one unlucky merchant - boarded up. Very few people were out, and those that were bustled purposefully to their destination without so much as a friendly nod to anyone they passed.

 _Jamie would have hated this_.

Mitch knew she loved her hometown. Despite the tragedy that had struck almost twenty years ago, the citizens of Folsom had come together and supported each other like family. The town had survived hurricanes, floods, and countless other disasters, all while keeping the small town charm that was all but gone in this age of technology and progress. To hear Jamie talk, Folsom itself embodied the very definition of perseverance. Seeing it like this would have broken her heart. 

Mitch found the turnoff that led toward Jamie’s childhood home. He’d only been here once, but he remembered her comment about the broken fence at the crossroad that served no other purpose than a landmark for visitors. It still swung precariously in the wind, held up by a single hinge that refused to give out. 

He slowed to a crawl as he approached the two story home. He hadn’t called ahead - hadn’t known how, even if he’d mustered the courage. And in these times, unannounced visitors might receive a rather disturbing welcome. It was enough to keep him in the car even as he killed the engine.

Lights inside told him there were people home, and it wasn’t long before the screen door swung open. A large, broad-shouldered man filled the doorway, his stern face illuminated by the setting sun. His closely cropped hair was almost completely gray, and his belly hung just slightly over the waist of his dirt-caked jeans. Mitch remembered his first meeting with the man and the way he’d stared at his niece’s guest all night as though he could see into Mitch’s soul. It had been uncomfortable until his wife had smacked him on the shoulder and ordered him to knock it off. 

Mitch decided he should get out of the car before Bo Armstrong got too nervous and skipped asking any questions. He kept his movements slow as he opened the door and stood, keeping his head up as Bo stared at him. Recognition dawned on his face and he relaxed, smiling as his eyes naturally traveled to the passenger side of the vehicle. Mitch felt his heart clench at the confusion that slowly replaced the man’s eager smile.

“You’re Jamie’s friend,” Bo lifted his chin in acknowledgement but didn’t budge from his stance.

“Mitch Morgan,” Mitch offered. “Yes, sir.” He added the last as an after thought, remembering the respectful address Jamie always used with her uncle. 

“Where is she?” There must have been something in Mitch’s face that answered his question, because Mitch saw the color drained from his cheeks and he frowned. “You better come inside, son. It’s not safe round here after dark.” He turned and put his back against the screen door, holding it open and inviting Mitch in all in one movement. Mitch covered the distance to the porch quickly, jogging up the three steps and into the house as Bo glanced around for any threats. Satisfied none were about, he followed Mitch inside and closed the door behind them.

“Thank you,” Mitch had stopped in the foyer, now completely awkward and unsure. 

Bo leaned the shotgun against the wall next to the door and stood up straight to look Mitch in the eye. “What happened?” Most of Mitch’s injuries were hidden beneath his clothes, including a very large bruise covering most of his chest where they’d broken ribs trying to get his heart started again. There was a healing cut just above his eye that had needed stitches, and a fading bruise that disappeared into his hairline. Still, Mitch figured Bo understood that whatever had happened to Jamie, Mitch had been there as well.

“I…” Mitch swallowed and took a breath, trying to come up with the right words. “We were on a plane, and it -” The word _crashed_ caught in his throat, and he tried to cough to clear it. What came out sounded closer to a sob. “I’m sorry.”

“Bo?” a woman’s voice called from somewhere further in the house. Just to the left of the door was the sitting room, open and warm. An old sofa sat against the far wall, pushed up against a bookshelf that had been tipped sideways in front of a boarded up picture window. On their last visit, Mitch had admired the sunset through that window.

“Damn birds dive bombed and broke the glass,” Bo explained as he gestured for Mitch to follow. He led them past the staircase that rose to the second floor and into the kitchen that sat just beyond the sitting room. A large round table sat on one side of the kitchen, though it was a bit more crowded than the last time Mitch had been here.

A tall man with angular features and dark brown hair sat facing the doorway, and as Mitch entered behind Bo he tensed.

“It’s alright, Reese,” Bo waved off his oldest son’s concern. “He’s a friend of Jamie’s.”

At her niece’s name, Fran Armstrong turned from her large pot of stew and smiled. Her face was rounded from years of good eating and her brown hair was streaked gray in some places, but her eyes danced with a light that sent a lance of guilt through Mitch’s heart. He would be the one to dim that light, possibly extinguish it forever.

“Mitch,” she wiped her hands on a dish towel and moved to wrap him in a hug. The gesture startled him, and he barely managed to lift his arms and return it before she pulled away. “Where’s Jamie?” She was looking past him now, over his shoulder to the hallway where she was sure her niece was lurking.

“Fran,” Bo grabbed a chair and pulled it back. “Sit down, honey.” The somber tone of his voice told her everything she needed to know.

Fran’s bright smile vanished, replaced by a look of horror as she shuffled backwards a few steps. “No.” Her hand moved to cover her mouth, which was quivering now as she fought tears. “No, no, no.” 

Bo reached out and grasped her arm lightly, steering her toward the chair. Reese moved to kneel next to her, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. Mitch could only watch, helpless and frozen in place. It was a scene that had been all too familiar to him as a doctor in a hospital. He knew from experience that no amount of apologies or condolences would soothe their grief, even if they heard him. But even as he watched Fran Armstrong crumple and bury her face in her hands, even as he heard her wails of anguish fill the small space, Mitch knew this time was different. 

“Mom?” Another voice, then footsteps on the stairs. It sounded like an entire herd of elephants tromping through the forest. A blur of red hair zipped past him, and for a moment Mitch’s heart skipped a beat. A younger man came in, trailed by a blonde woman and two boys that couldn’t be older than three or four. Mitch recognized them from the family photos in the living room, and his mind supplied the name after only a few seconds. Fran couldn’t speak, her face still covered by her hands as she wept. Charlie looked up at his brother for help.

“Jamie.” It was all the eldest Armstrong brother could say, his own emotion choking him as he tried to stay strong for his mother. Charlie gasped and reached out to lay a hand on Fran’s leg.

It was too much. The despair that had suddenly blanketed the room made it impossible for him to stay there another moment more. He turned with a mumbled apology to the woman still standing in the doorway and bolted for the living room. His breath came in short gasps, his own grief rising up like a wave and crashing against his chest. Bo’s warning about going out after dark made him stop at the front door, his hand still gripping the doorknob desperately. He stood there for several minutes, debating internally, before he turned the knob.

“Wait.” It was Bo, his voice somehow steady despite the horrific news Mitch had brought him. “Stay inside, son.” 

Mitch released the handle but didn’t move. His eyes were glued to the well-worn mat at his feet, its message of welcome faded and almost invisible after years of use. Mitch had bit back a snide comment the first time he saw it, choosing instead to offer his hosts a flat smile and firm handshake as Jamie introduced them. He had learned very quickly that this single word was more than a faded greeting on a mat; Fran Armstrong had welcomed him into her home like he’d been a part of the family forever. He’d repaid her by bringing news of her only niece’s death.

“Come back inside,” Bo was closer now, close enough to lay a hand on Mitch’s shoulder. Unsure of what else to do, Mitch let himself be led like a child back to the kitchen. Fran was still crying quietly in the arms of her oldest son, and Charlie’s wife had taken up position behind the younger man to console him. The two toddlers were unusually quiet, no doubt reacting to the mood of the room as they occupied themselves in a corner. Mitch felt the weight of their sorrow as he entered. Fran glanced up and choked back a sob as she stood to gather Mitch against her.

“I’m so sorry, Mitch,” she cried into his shoulder. Mitch winced as she squeezed him just a little too hard, but he wouldn’t dare interrupt her grief for his own physical pain. She seemed to sense it, though, because when she pulled back she ran a critical eye over him. “Are you alright? Bo said it was a plane crash?” Her words were strained but she managed to get them out without losing composure. Mitch marveled at her strength.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am.”

Fran waved a hand at him and pushed him to a chair. “None of that, Mitch. Here.” She opened the fridge and pulled out a cold bottle of water. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything else to offer,” she said. “I haven’t exactly been able to get to the store.” She pushed it into his hands as he sat down. “Are you hungry?”

“Fran,” Bo shook his head. “Why don’t you sit down?”

She looked at her husband in surprise, as though the very notion of not accommodating their guest was akin to heresy. Mitch guessed in the South that might be true. 

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “This is fine, thank you. Please.” He gestured at the chair she’d vacated to take care of him. His guilt ramped up a few notches as she frowned, but she sank down gracefully and sat with her back erect.

“I just can’t believe...first Stephen, now Jamie. What’s going on out there?” Stephen, he knew, was the name of one of their twins. Mitch hadn’t met any of the Armstrong boys before tonight, but he’d heard about Stephen and his wife on his last visit. They’d been living in Houston before the animals had mutated. From Fran’s tone, he guessed something bad had happened in Texas.

“Something’s wrong with the animals,” Mitch really didn’t feel up to going over it all again, but he knew this family deserved an explanation. “They’ve been exposed to something that caused them to mutate. That’s what’s making them aggressive.” There was more to it than that - far more - but it wasn’t anything he wanted to talk about right now.

“Did animals cause the plane crash?” Bo asked.

Mitch nodded sharply. “We were over the Atlantic. They searched for four days before they called off the rescue. The Canadian government sent dive teams out for recovery and salvage.” Mitch had forced down a wave of nausea when Abe had told him. He knew what those words meant; they were looking for bodies. Ever since then, anytime Mitch thought about the crash or Jamie he pictured her bloated, sickly and pale with death. He felt the bile rising in his throat and he pushed it back down; he had no intention of throwing up again until his ribs had healed. The first time he’d tried solid food after the crash he’d been unable to keep it down. The pain had been nearly unbearable, like someone was slamming his chest with a sledgehammer each time his stomach clenched.

“They never found her?” Fran’s voice quivered, her hands fluttering in front of her as they sought for something hold onto. Reese offered his own hand and she took it gratefully.

“No.” Mitch dropped his gaze from hers, unable to bear witness to her pain any longer. Her hiccuping sob was enough, though, and he slammed his eyes closed to stop his own tears from falling. He had no right to them, not while he was essentially the one responsible for her involvement in the first place. 

“Reese, Charlie, take your mother upstairs, please,” Bo’s gentle command was heeded almost instantly. Reese kept a hold of Fran’s hand as Charlie moved to wrap an arm around her shoulders. The blonde woman - Megan, Mitch finally remembered - gathered her children and followed, leaving Mitch alone in the kitchen with Jamie’s uncle.

He braced himself for the onslaught, for the blame. Guilt had been eating at him for the past week, tormenting him with flashes of their brief time together. When Chloe had mentioned notifying Jamie’s family, he’d balked at first. Then he pictured these wonderful people learning the news from a phone call or a stranger at their door and he relented. He owed them that much, at least, for dragging their niece into this mess. If it hadn’t been for him, Jamie would be sitting at the table happily chatting away with her family rather than beneath the cold, crushing depths of the sea.

He deserved every bit of contempt and ire Bo Armstrong could hurl at him. The least he could do was straighten up and take it like a man. Bo’s stare was piercing as Mitch lifted his eyes, but he didn’t look away. In the man’s gaze he could see the sorrow of his loss, the pain that came with the death of a child. Jamie might not have been his own, but there was no way Mitch could have missed the way Bo and Fran had felt about their niece. She was theirs as much as any of the boys, and now she was gone. If it would ease his misery, Mitch would gladly bear the brunt of his anger.

“I want to thank you,” Bo said finally. 

His words surprised Mitch so much that he jerked in his seat. “What?”

Bo smiled sadly and leaned his arms on the table. “The last time you were here, after you went to bed, Jamie and I sat up talking. We used to do that sometimes, when she was younger.” Bo’s smile changed then, warming with the memory. “She always wanted to hear stories about her mom from when we were kids, so we’d make some cocoa and sit out on the porch and I’d tell her stories until she fell asleep.” He took a moment to bask in the happiness of those simpler days. “So when she told me she couldn’t sleep, I made us some cocoa and out to the porch we went.” Bo poked at an imaginary speck on the table as he gathered his thoughts. Mitch was still too confused to offer anything other than a muted stare.

“She told me what you did,” Bo continued after a few seconds. “About the lions, the thing with Reiden. She said you believed her.” Bo’s fingers curled slightly into a loose fist. It was the first sign of emotion he’d seen all night from the man. “All her life people have been telling her to let it go, that there was nothing she could do. Reiden’s too big, too rich, and no one would listen to one orphaned girl from a nowhere town. Until you.”

Mitch shook his head. “I didn’t -”

“You did,” Bo pressed. “Something broke inside that girl when her mother passed. Lord knows I have my fair share of anger in regards to it, and I live with it everyday. But Nancy’s death hit Jamie the hardest.” Bo sat back in his chair and sighed wearily. “She became distant, withdrawn, angry. When she got older, she threw herself into this quest of hers. She promised to make Reiden pay for what they did.” He paused then, shaking his head sadly. “No one thought she could do it, even me.” Shame tinted his eyes now and he looked away from Mitch. “I never told her, of course, but I never really believed she’d get far. Back when the plant failed, the town rallied and pushed for a lawsuit but nothing ever came of it. The whole damn state of Louisiana couldn’t stand against Reiden; what chance did one woman have?”

Mitch thought back to his first meeting with Jamie. She’d been so sure of Reiden’s connection with the lion’s odd behavior, ready with facts and statistics and anecdotal proof that had amused and intrigued him all at once. _Who was this woman_ , he’d thought to himself, _and why does this matter so much_? A night of drinks had answered his questions and created so many more. He learned of her life’s work, of her unyielding tenacity in the face of seemingly impossible odds. Everyday Jamie donned her armor and went to battle with Reiden. It didn’t matter how many times they beat her down, she kept standing back up. Mitch had only seen her falter once, brought low not by her enemy but by someone she thought was an ally. Senator Vaughn. He’d done more to crush her spirit in five minutes of conversation than a decade of injunctions, roadblocks, and threats from Reiden. Mitch had only known her for maybe a week, and he already wanted to shield her from that pain, to find some way to help her through it. Gaspard had presented the opportunity, and he’d seized it with both hands. 

Bo went on, oblivious to Mitch’s thoughts. “But she kept at it. No matter what anyone told her, she was determined. We tried to help, honest we did. But we couldn’t devote our whole lives to it - not like she could. We have the farm, the boys...we had to learn how to move on. But Jamie just kept at it, kept digging, kept searching. In the end, she had to do a lot of it alone.” Bo stood up, resting his hands flat on the table to lean in. “Then you came along. You listened to her. Not only that, but you believed her, helped her. You can’t understand what that means to me, son. To know there was someone standing with her in the end.”

Mitch suddenly couldn’t breathe, couldn’t look this man in the eye for the shame and guilt that washed over him. _Take care of her_. That had been Bo’s only request the morning they’d left for D.C. and that first fateful meeting with Delavane and the rest of the team. Mitch had taken the man’s outstretched hand and nodded in answer. 

“You loved her.” Bo’s words were a statement, like a fact read from a textbook rather than a question. Mitch gasped for a breath and glanced up at the man now towering over him. “It’s alright. Hard not to, really.” Bo stepped away from the table and shoved his hands in his pockets for lack of something to do. “I’m not sure what your plans are, but we’d love to have you stay for a bit. Fran will want to have a service, even with all the craziness going on out there.” 

Mitch thought about his options. He could go back to D.C., to his friends’ pitiful glances and hesitant interactions. Just the idea that they would feel the need to tiptoe around him for fear of upsetting him made him scratch that plan. He could go further north, find Clementine and Audra and wait out the apocalypse in Maine. But despite his promise to be more involved in his daughter’s life, to stay in touch, he thought maybe all day, everyday was a bit too much right now. He could go back to California, find his mom and figure out what to do from there. She would no doubt want to hear all about his adventures, which would prompt another wave of sympathy that he wasn’t sure he could stand right now.

He would call Chloe and figure out how to contact Clementine and his mother tomorrow. Standing to match Bo’s height he said the only thing he could manage without his voice breaking. 

“Thank you.”

“No, son,” Bo reached out to lay a hand on Mitch’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

_Folsom, Louisiana  
September 25th_

Fran pulled him in for one last hug as Bo closed the trunk of his borrowed government car. Chloe had promised him that no one would come looking for it and he could use it as long as he wanted. Mitch hadn’t questioned her, just accepted the credit card she’d told him to use for gas and the hug she’d given him before he’d climbed in and pointed the car south.

“Please call us when you get back to Washington,” Fran fussed. It was still a bit awkward, but Mitch had grown mostly accustomed to her fretting over the last few weeks. 

“I will,” he promised. “And I’ll call you after the hearing and let you know how things go.” Chloe had called him with the news the night before. A lot of high level Reiden execs were being summoned to the capital for a hearing. It hadn’t been announced to the public yet, but enough of the right people had learned about the Mother Cell and the cause of the animal mutations. Mitch suspected Delavane had been involved, but Chloe wouldn’t say anything else. Mitch was needed to present the empirical data as the team’s resident scientist.

“Be careful,” Bo shook Mitch’s hand heartily, then pulled the younger man in for a brief hug. 

“I will,” Mitch promised again. “Tell Sam goodbye for me.” 

Stephen’s twin had come back home for Jamie’s memorial, and he and Mitch had hit it off pretty well. He was a vet in Shreveport, and after the service they’d sat in the kitchen speaking quietly until the early hours of the morning. Mitch listened as Sam told story after story of young Jamie’s exploits, about how she would sneak out at night and cover the two miles to her mother’s grave. The first time she’d done it, Fran had been frantic until Reese had figured it out. He’d found her slumped over her mother’s name having cried herself to sleep. He’d carried her home, and the whole family had stayed at her side for two days. The second time, Sam and Stephen had met her outside on their bikes and rode with her. It became a sort of weekly tradition, a poorly kept secret that neither Fran nor Bo mentioned so long as Sam and Stephen went with her. 

Mitch had planned on stopping by the cemetery on his way out of town, but as the turn came up he found he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He felt the shame rise in him as he drove by. Once was enough, he told himself. He’d come back in a few months, he promised himself, when the pain of her death wasn’t so raw. Perhaps then he could bring himself to say everything he’d thought of for her memorial but couldn’t muster the courage to actually speak. Chloe, Jackson and Abe had brought flowers and their condolences, muttering these last to both Jamie’s family and to Mitch. He’d accepted the hug Chloe gave him, and nodded as she promised to keep in touch. Abe and Jackson had both patted his shoulder gently, mindful of his still healing injuries. They, too, promised to call. Mitch hadn’t heard from any of them in three weeks until Chloe called last night.

Cursing silently, he slowed enough to turn around. Empty promises meant nothing. He needed to do this now. 

He knew the path by heart despite having only been here twice. He remembered the first time, feeling awkward and unsure as he shuffled behind Jamie’s measured steps. The second time his grief had washed out any awkwardness. The stone had already been set next to her mother’s; without a body to bury and the threat of animals lurking everywhere, the Armstrongs had opted for a small service at the cemetery. Still, most of the town had turned out. Mitch had been surprised at the crowd, though he shouldn’t have been. Bo had been right - she was so easy to love.

He didn’t have flowers to leave, so he stood with his hands clasped in front of him between her name and her mother’s. The sky overhead was bright, and Mitch cursed the sunshine as he knelt before the marker on the left.

“Hi,” he said, his voice rough as he fought to keep from crying. Her name etched on the stone was like her - larger than life and impossible to ignore. He ran his fingers in the grooves of the letters, tracing the last bit of her left in this world. His fingers caught in the final L and stayed there. He felt foolish for speaking to the cold stone, but he’d done a lot of foolish things for her. He regretted none of them.

“I’m going back to Washington,” he said finally. “Chloe said Reiden is being questioned about their involvement in everything.” She hadn’t given much more detail than that, but she’d sounded confident, and Mitch smiled. “They’re finally going to get their comeuppance,” he told her grave. “I wish you were here to see it.” A breeze rustled the trees in answer. Mitch shook his head at the thought. The dead didn’t speak from beyond the grave; it was a silly superstition he refused to give any credence. 

But then the wind shifted, bringing with it a familiar aroma. He’d only smelled it a few times, mostly in the beginning weeks of their friendship. Back when she’d still had all of her things, including the fragrant shampoo she’d claimed was the only kind she’d ever use. Necessity had changed that, and at the end of their last adventure they’d been grateful for any type of soap or shampoo to rid themselves of the dirt and grime that had accumulated over several days in the African bush.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the distinctive scent of orange blossoms. He knew that it was just his mind playing tricks on him - the plant wasn’t native to this region - but he didn’t dare analyze it any further. His eyes closed as the wind whipped through the trees and around his body. He pictured her there, in his mind’s eye, and for the first time in weeks she wasn’t the horrific visage from his nightmares. She stood before him, her red hair dancing in the breeze and her eyes alight with laughter and love. This was how he wanted to remember her, and he clung to the image as the wind died down. When his eyes opened he felt lighter, more centered, and he rose to his feet as a quiet whisper fell from his lips.

“I love you, Jamie.”

He lingered for a few more seconds, then turned and walked back to the car. Remnants of his tears pooled in the corners of his eyes, but he brushed them away as he started the engine. He would go to Washington, testify against Reiden and get justice for both Jamie and her mother. 

_New Brunswick, Canada - 15 miles south of Caraquet  
October 4th_

He settled into a routine as the days stretched on. The woman never woke enough to take care of her own necessities, so Anik had to improvise. The supplies his mother had used for his grandmother were still stashed away down in the basement, and so he’d fished out two pans to place under her as she slept.

She slept all the time.

He did manage to wake her enough each day to eat a bowlful of broth. She was never lucid, and any attempt at conversation ended in silence. His second patient wasn’t so quiet.

The cub was growing quickly on the meat he was feeding it. Sometimes the animals living in the surrounding woods came close enough for him to shoot with his crossbow. He cleaned them as much as he dared before tossing bits into the makeshift cage he’d built. It was a small pen inside his basement, but soon the cub would need to be taken outside. Wild things did not do well indoors.

“ _Well, little one_ ,” he listened as the cub growled and pounced on each piece of meat he tossed in, “ _at least one of you seems to be getting better_.”

Anik had hoped the woman would have gotten well enough to at least give her name. She hadn’t had any identification on her, and he didn’t even know what country she hailed from. Perhaps he could contact someone in town and let them know he’d rescued a woman. Perhaps someone was looking for her?

Yes, he told himself. The next time he was in town he would tell the Mounties about the girl. Until then, he would do his best to care for her and hope she woke up soon.

_Washington, D.C.  
October 10th_

_Indemnity_. Mitch couldn’t believe his ears. The gavel struck the podium, punctuating the judge’s order and Mitch’s anger. _This could not be happening_. 

Next to him, the others looked just as dumbstruck. Reiden had done it again. Somehow they’d weaseled their way out of responsibility. They almost destroyed the world, and they weren’t even getting a slap on the wrist. No, instead they offered to provide the Mother Cell so the cure could be made. They were going to be heroes. The thought made him sick.

“I need some air.” Mitch pushed away from the table and stalked out the door, ignoring the dozens of reporters gathered at the courtroom door, all scrambling to get the scoop. They shouted his name, a cacophony of voices that Mitch ignored. He pushed through the throng, wincing against the flash of the cameras, and managed to escape out a side door. No one followed him.

The brick was rough under his hands as he leaned against it, braced on both arms and head hung low. _This could not be happening_. Disbelief quickly morphed into a white hot anger, and before he could think about the consequences he balled his fist and pounded the wall in frustration. The pain focused his thoughts, but only enough for the weight of his failure to settle somewhere deep in his soul. He’d failed her.

“Mitch?” It was Chloe, her voice loud in the alley without the normal bustle of the city around them. D.C. was still a ghost town, all of its residents either gone or behind armed guards and gates. Her footsteps measured her slow approach, and Mitch counted each one in an effort to stave off the sting behind his eyelids. Her perfume reminded him of the woman he’d met in that board room so many months ago, confident and eager to lead this team that had been hand-picked for her. Miss Tousignant had been impressive upon first glance, with her haughty features and perfect posture. Mitch had been prepared to despise her. 

But when he opened his eyes he just saw Chloe, the woman who had survived Rio with him, who had protected Jamie from Delavane after Ben’s death, who had tackled a woman out of an airplane to keep her from killing a man who’d wanted them dead. Somewhere along the way she’d become someone he could call a friend - probably his closest friend after Jamie. Not knowing what had happened to her after Florida had gnawed at him, but more pressing concerns had kept thoughts of Chloe at the back of his mind. He was glad she was alright.

“Mitch?” she called again. His silence was likely worrisome; he wasn’t known for keeping his thoughts to himself.

“Yeah,” he managed.

“Are you okay?”

He snorted derisively in answer; she knew the answer to that question. He answered it anyway. “No.” He turned around and pressed his back against the wall, laying his head back. “But there’s nothing we can do about it, is there?”

“No.” Chloe sounded defeated. She mimicked his position on the wall and reached for his hand. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s fine,” he pulled it away and pushed it into the pocket of his dark slacks. It stung and was probably bleeding, but he didn’t care. 

“Mitch,” she began, then stalled. But he’d heard enough in that one word to set him even more on edge. There was something she knew, something she needed to tell him but didn’t want to. He looked at her face and tried to figure out what it was, but he was horrible at reading people. That had been Jamie’s thing. 

“What is it?”

“They’re calling us back in,” she said. “The four of us.”

“What for?” What else could they possibly say to him now? What could they do? 

“They wouldn’t say,” she said. “But it has something to do with Reiden.”

Mitch sneered at the name. Five months ago, he only knew them as the company who provided the new diets for the zoo. They were just another corporation, another corporate name among thousands. Then Jamie Campbell had walked into his life with a friendly smile and a chip on her shoulder. Back then, he couldn’t understand how she could despise Reiden so much. Now he understood her ever-present revulsion any time the company was mentioned. He felt like punching the wall all over again.

“Let’s get this over with.”

He followed her through the halls of the now deserted court house. How long had he been out there? The reporters had fled, some off to find their next scoop, others heading back to their headquarters to write the outcome of this one. They walked past the rows of courtrooms to a large wooden door set at the end of a long hallway. Mitch reached out to hold the door for Chloe as she led him into a meeting room. A long banquet table sat in the center, framed on all sides by tall bookshelves. At the head of the table sat the judge, his black robes nearly blending into the mahogany of the table and the dark brown of the walls. Jackson and Abe sat on the right side of the table. The two chairs next to them were obviously waiting for the remaining members of their team. On the other side sat what Mitch assumed were Reiden’s representatives, three men in suits that probably cost more than a year’s tuition at UCLA. One of them was Clayton Burke, and the man scowled at Mitch as they entered.

Mitch held Chloe’s chair as she sat before taking the one between her and Jackson. Abe sat at the end of the row, his face set in a frown that did not bode well. Whatever had been discussed during his absence, it seemed his friends didn’t like it. Still none of them said a word, obviously waiting for Chloe to take the lead.

“We are here,” she nodded deferentially to the judge, but refused to look at the men across from her.

“Thank you,” Judge Morris offered her a grateful smile. “I’m sure we can all appreciate the necessity for a quick end to this so we can leave before nightfall. Mr. Alwitz?”

The Reiden lawyer sat straighter in his seat and took charge with all the authority of someone who was used to getting his way. “Thank you, Your Honor. I think we can all agree that what’s happened is a terrible thing, and Reiden Global is willing to offer whatever aid is necessary to help reverse it.” Mitch felt the stirrings of a very large “if” coming on, and he felt his hand clench in a fist beneath the table. 

“That’s good to hear,” Judge Morris nodded. “I don’t imagine this sudden altruism is without compensation?”

Alwitz smiled humorlessly at the Judge’s less than subtle disdain. “It’s simple, Your Honor. Reiden is asking that these four sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement preventing them from mentioning any connection with any incidents involving animals and Reiden Global. Such rumors could damage the public’s trust, and prevent Reiden from being able to fully support the effort to make the cure.”

“They would withhold the Mother Cell, you mean,” Chloe spat.

“Miss Tousignant,” Judge Morris warned.

Alwitz continued without missing a beat. “Certainly not. They’ve already agreed to provide the mineral to aid in the cure effort. But if the public’s view of Reiden suddenly turned for the worst, implementing the cure may take weeks, months, or it may not happen at all. I think we can all agree that would be unacceptable. All Reiden is asking for -”

“Is our silence,” Mitch finished for him. “They want us to sit down and shut up. Meanwhile, the world gets to see Reiden Global as the company who saved the world, instead of the one who destroyed it.”

“That’s slander,” Burke sneered at Mitch. “And wholly untrue.”

“It was your Mother Cell that made all of the animals mutate!” Mitch shouted back.

“Speculation,” Burke shook his head. “You have no proof.”

“Give me any animal on the planet and your Mother Cell. I’ll have your proof in a matter of minutes.” Mitch would not let them do this. They were not going to get away with it again. He owed that much to Jamie’s memory at least.

“Enough,” Judge Morris pounded his hand on the table, startling them and pulling their attention away from each other and back to the matter at hand. “I’ll hold both of you in contempt. Mr. Alwitz,” he looked at the man on his right, “is this Non-Disclosure Agreement the only requirement?”

“It is.” Alwitz slid the paper over to the judge for his perusal.

“In exchange for what?” Chloe asked. “What do we get in return?”

“Your freedom,” the third man spoke finally, his voice gruff and stern. He was Hispanic in heritage, his dark hair peppered gray with his advanced years. He had the broad frame of an athlete, and the bumps on his nose made Mitch think he might have been a boxer in his youth. Mitch thought he recognized him, but he couldn’t supply a name to go with the face.

Judge Morris seemed to sense his confusion, and held out a hand in introduction. “Mr. Guerra represents the US Attorney General’s office,” he said. 

“We’re willing to offer the four of you complete prosecutorial immunity for any and all crimes committed during this...incident.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table as he spoke in a slow, clear tone. “I urge you to accept this deal,” he said. “Otherwise, the four of you are looking at facing a number of federal charges, including accessory to the murder of a federal agent.”

“An agent on Reiden’s payroll,” Mitch snapped. 

“Agent Ben Schaffer has never been connected with Reiden,” Guerra said. “No formal inquiry was ever opened, and to do so now would only dishonor his memory.”

“He tried to kill me,” Jackson finally said. “Jamie shot him in self-defense.”

“And then ran,” Guerra turned his piercing eyes on Jackson. “Not exactly the actions of an innocent.”

White hot fury erupted in Mitch’s chest, and he didn’t realize he’d pushed himself to his feet until he felt Chloe’s insistent tug on his shirt. “Mitch,” she whispered.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” he hissed. “I can’t believe you have the audacity to actually think we’d sign this.”

Guerra relaxed back in his seat and held out his hands. “If you do not, then you will be arrested immediately upon the conclusion of this meeting and charged with your crimes.”

Mitch didn’t sit down, but he did make an effort to lower his voice. “That’s blackmail.”

Burke smiled disarmingly. “I didn’t ask, Dr. Morgan. How is your daughter?”

Mitch looked at the man’s smug smile and resisted the urge to knock it off his face. But his words had the intended effect, and Mitch sank back into his chair. 

Abe chose that moment to enter the conversation. “For the sake of argument,” he said with a sidelong glance at Mitch, “what happens if one of us refuses to sign?”

“I understand this is a big decision,” Judge Morris took control of the meeting once more. “But the stipulations of the agreement are clear. All four of you must sign, or all four of you will face the charges.”

Mitch glared across the table at Burke, his disdain for the man blossoming into something he could only name hate. It was happening again - Reiden was going to come out this without a scratch, and their best chance of getting justice was being taken away from them. Mitch suddenly understood Jamie far better than he ever had before.

Alwitz stood and gathered his briefcase. “We’ll step outside to allow you to discuss this. We need a decision today.” The others followed suit, leaving the four of them sitting in the briefing room alone. 

“What do we do?” Chloe asked plainly.

“Do we really have a choice?” Jackson answered. “If we don’t sign, we go to jail.”

“So we let them get away with it,” Mitch translated coldly.

“Look, I’m not saying it because I like it,” Jackson swiveled his chair slightly to look at Mitch better. His left arm was still in a sling, and his face was dotted with small pink marks that were the only remnants of the cuts and bruises he’d received from the crash. “And if it was just us, then I’d be willing to spend a few years in jail in exchange for being able to tell the truth. But the animals still aren’t cured, and we’re the only ones who know how to stop it. We can’t do that from inside a jail cell.”

Mitch bristled at his words, words he had once spoken to Jamie after Ben Schaffer’s death. She had balked at them; Mitch just felt weary. 

Chloe laid her hand on his forearm, her long fingers pressing into his skin to pull his attention from Jackson. “I understand why this is so upsetting,” she said. “Jamie spent her life fighting Reiden, and ultimately died doing it. If you feel that signing this document would dishonor her memory, then I am willing to face the charges.”

It was a simple thing, her unwavering support, but in the end they were enough to tip the scales. Mitch sagged back in his seat and covered his face with his hand to push back the tears in his eyes. “No,” he said finally. “No, sign it. Jackson’s right. Refusing to be silenced, going to jail - it’s the righteous thing to do, but it isn’t the right one.” Then, with some difficulty, he added, “Jamie wouldn’t want us to stop fighting. We’ll find another way to get the story out.” Despite his words, it felt like a betrayal. Worse yet, Mitch would have to find a way to explain this to Bo and Fran. He’d promised them that he would make Reiden pay, that he would find a way to bring meaning to Jamie’s death. 

“Are you sure?” Abe asked. By his tone, Mitch guessed he agreed with Chloe. The thought that his friends were willing to rot in a cell for Jamie was enough to clear any last traces of hesitation. 

“I’m sure,” he said, lifting his head to meet Abe’s eyes. “We need to make the cure and stop this before it gets any worse.”

Abe nodded and stood, moving the short distance to open the door. Alwitz and the others stood a respectable distance from the door, but as it opened they turned with expectant glances. Abe said nothing, just turned to go back to his seat as the men filed into the room. Once they were seated, Chloe turned to Judge Morris and uttered three words that etched themselves like a record groove into Mitch’s heart. He knew he would hear them replayed over and over again in his nightmares, accompanied by a pair of accusing blue eyes.

“We will sign.”

_Washington D.C.  
November 12th_

Mitch gasped awake, his sheets soaked in sweat as the echoes of his nightmare faded into the darkness. It had been the same one every night for the last month, and it always ended the same - blue eyes clouded in death staring endlessly from a dark abyss. It had been enough to drive him to drink, finding the only solace he could at the bottom of a whiskey glass. The dive bar three blocks over was his new home from early afternoon until closing time. Then it was a short jaunt to his new apartment, where he passed out on the couch and prayed for a dreamless sleep.

He’d been given a modest one bedroom apartment near the complex, just a few floors away from Jackson. It was spartan, almost bare, but it was free so long as Mitch agreed to supply the newly appointed International Animal Defense Group (and that’s not pretentious at all) with the instructions to make the cure. He’d also been asked to oversee the initial process when they finally acquired a leopard, whenever that was. Jackson said there was a team on the ground in Zambia. So far they’d been unsuccessful in tracking down the animals that had ravaged the area and sent the region into total chaos. Mitch wondered how long it would take for the leopards to find them.

Thunder rumbled outside, and a flash of lightning illuminated his living room for an instant. Papers littered the flimsy coffee table, along with a netbook that contained the entirety of Mitch’s notes from the last six months. He’d had to recall a lot of it from memory, and in the end it read more like a journal than a series of scientific notes. The latest entries contained the chemical formula for the Mother Cell as well as the world’s best guess as to the current population remaining. The numbers were staggering - animals had wiped out millions of people in just five months, mostly in rural and underdeveloped areas. Major cities like Los Angeles were now ghost towns due to mass evacuations, and a large portion of those people now lived in safe zones dotted across the country. 

His mother lived in in one such zone. He’d called her several times to check on her, and every time she would try to get him to talk about what had happened. She knew there had been a plane crash, and she knew one of his friends had been killed. She had been sad to hear that it had been the girl who’d sent Ethan for her - a nice young man who resided just a few doors down from her now. Mitch wondered if his mother could hear just how devastated he was, how deeply Jamie’s loss had hurt him. He guessed so; mothers had an odd sense where their children were concerned. 

Clem, Audra and Justin had been settled in one of the more remote zones in Maine, and Mitch had chatted with his daughter via video a few times. She always asked when she could go home, and every time Mitch gave her the same answer. Soon.

The clock on the microwave told him it was too early to get up, but there was no way he was getting back to sleep now. He pulled a ceramic mug from the cupboard and filled it from the gallon of filtered water he had stashed in his fridge. Utilities were hit and miss (his electricity had gone out three times in the past two weeks) and he didn’t trust the water from the tap. He zapped it in the microwave until it was near boiling, then added one of the teabags from the tin that had been a housewarming gift from Chloe. It was supposed to be good for calming the nerves - Mitch just liked the taste.

As he sipped the scalding liquid he thought about the first time he’d tasted it. Fran had a tin in her cupboard, a remnant of Jamie’s leftover from the last time she’d lived there. The woman had thought it fitting that she share the last of it with the man who had loved her niece so fiercely.

After the hearing, Mitch had thought telling Jamie’s family about the outcome was the worse thing he could imagine. He’d been wrong. Fran’s quiet understanding and reassurance had cut him more deeply than forcing the words past his lips. She’d told him he had done the best he could by Jamie and that he shouldn’t feel guilty for things that were beyond his control. Mitch wondered how many times she’d given Jamie the same council. 

_Dalton’s Bar  
November 29th_

Mitch tapped the rim of his glass and waited for Dalton to oblige. The man eyed him carefully, sizing him up in that way only bartenders seemed to possess before reaching for the bottle beneath the counter.

“How come you’re still open, Dalton?” Mitch asked. He was consciously aware of the slurring that came with copious amounts of alcohol. He tried to enunciate, but he guessed from Dalton’s amused expression that he’d failed.

“Because people like you still come in.”

“People like me,” Mitch repeated slowly. “Are there other people like me? I mean, my mom always said I was unique. One of a kind.” He frowned into his glass, then upended the dark contents into his mouth. The whiskey had numbed most of his senses, but it still burned going down his throat. “Sometimes I think that’s a good thing. That there’s only one of me. I screw up pretty much everything I touch, so…” He tapped the rim again, asking silently for more, but Dalton just sighed.

The glass of water he set on the counter told Mitch he was done for the evening. 

“You’re no fun,” Mitch grumbled, but took a sip of the cold water anyway. It tasted clean, and the icy liquid felt good on his throat. He took another sip. “S’pose you gotta make sure I don’t die of alcohol poisoning. I’m your only customer.”

“Drink all of that before you go home,” Dalton ordered. 

“Sure.” Mitch took another sip, then started again on his earlier rant. “You ever meet anyone who destroys everything they touch?”

Dalton wiped down the bar more out of habit than necessity before leaning against it. “Before this animal thing? Everyday.”

Mitch snorted at that and took a larger gulp. He felt a surge of nausea, but he forced it down along with the water. “Not like I can. I had it, Dalton. The real thing. She was warm, and real, and I held her in my arms. Then it all went to hell and I lost her. Just like that.” He tried to snap, but his fingers didn’t really work the way he wanted them to.

“What was her name?”

Mitch swallowed thickly, his nausea returning tenfold as her face swam in his mind’s eye. “Jamie.”

“Jamie,” Dalton repeated. “I’m sorry, Mitch. It’s a rare thing, when you find it. My Annette was killed in a car wreck about ten years ago. A stupid kid with a hot rod who decided to race on the freeway - that’s what took her away from me. I spent about five years in the bottle before I realized she wouldn’t want me to spend my life that way. She’d want me to be happy. So I got sober, and everyday I look at her picture and remind myself why I get out of bed every morning.”

“And now you serve us poor schmucks who aren’t quite as enlightened. Noble.” Mitch saluted him with his glass and took another drink of water. It was doing its job fairly well; the numbness was wearing off.

“You gotta find a reason to continue,” Dalton shrugged and pushed away from the bar. “Especially now.”

“I only have one,” he held up his pointer finger and wagged it slowly. “And because of a stupid...thing, I can’t talk about it.” Apparently even completely trashed his brain was keen on self-preservation. The non-disclosure agreement had been very explicit. If he uttered a word about Reiden’s involvement to anyone, if he mentioned the gag order, then it would be nullified and he would go to prison. And so would the others.

He pushed up from his barstool and dug into his pocket for his wallet. The IADG gave him a monthly stipend that he usually spent here. Mitch absently wondered if he was single-handedly paying Dalton’s rent. Then he remembered that most folks these days didn’t pay rent. They just survived. He dropped three twenties on the bar and turned for the bathroom. Bomba the pug sat in his customary place at the end of the bar, his small dog bed occupying a good portion of the surface. Mitch scratched the pup behind the ears as he passed. At first the dog’s presence had thrown him, but after several weeks with no sign of aggression, Mitch accepted Bomba’s place here at Dalton’s. 

The barkeep was wiping down tables when he emerged from the bathroom a little more clear-headed. It was a ten minute walk back to his apartment, and the less muddled his brain was the better. He’d hate for his friends to discover he’d been murdered by feral cats because he was too drunk to think clearly.

Not that he’d heard from any of them since the trial. Not fair, his brain argued. Chloe had tried, she really had. She’d helped him get settled, set up his stipend and kept him in the loop regarding the cure efforts. But every time she tried to pry further, to lend her ear as a friend or a shoulder to cry on, Mitch shut down. He didn’t want to talk about it, he told her. He was fine.

“See you tomorrow, Dalton.” Mitch shoved his hands in his pockets and pushed the door open with his shoulder. Autumn was slowly giving way to winter, and the wind was bitter and cold after the sun went down. Now, well after midnight, Mitch could see his breath fogging the air as he breathed. The cold banished the last of the haze from his head, and as he crossed the street he couldn’t help but think how much Jamie would hate this place. She loved beaches and warm country nights. She loved thick blankets and hot tea and scalding showers. He remembered how she would layer her clothes, even in the heat of the African sun. He remembered the piles of blankets in the tent when he went to sleep. 

She would hate this place.

_Mitch’s Apartment  
December 20th_

It had been so long since someone had called his phone, he damn near forgot he had one at all. He glanced at the screen, scowled at the unknown caller label and almost didn’t answer it. Then he remembered his promise to Chloe to help with the cure, and he figured it was one of their scientists. He picked up on the fifth ring.

“Mitch Morgan.”

“Doctor Morgan?” The feminine voice on the other end sounded so much like Jamie that for a moment his heart stopped beating. Then she continued. “My name is Anne Brevers, I’m a reporter with _The Post_. Could I have a moment of your time?”

He couldn’t help it. He knew Miss Brevers probably thought him a lunatic, but Mitch could not contain the harsh bark of laughter that erupted from his throat. 

“Do all reporters have a script they have to use when contacting people?” he asked bluntly. Because her words had been nearly identical to the ones Jamie had used on her first phone call with him. In fact, other than her name and the name of the paper, it was verbatim.

“I’m sorry?” 

“Never mind,” Mitch’s amusement quickly faded. “What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping to interview you,” she answered succinctly. “I understand you’re one of the people responsible for creating the cure for the animals. I’d like to hear your story.”

His story. How much of it could he tell without mentioning Reiden? Surely she’d notice if he hedged his answers. But when would an opportunity like this come again? Maybe if he placed the right kind of clues, she would dig a little deeper on her own to find the truth. But could he risk the freedom of his friends for the chance?

“Doctor Morgan?”

“Okay,” he agreed. 

“Should I meet you at your office?” 

Mitch glanced around at his apartment, decided it was in no fit state for guests, and shook his head. “No office,” he told her. “But I have an address we can meet at.”

He gave her the address for Dalton’s, and when he walked in she was already sitting at the bar. Dalton seemed genuinely happy to have someone different to serve, and as Mitch approached them the bartender laughed in a way he’d never heard before.

“Nice to see someone else putting up with this old goat for a change,” Mitch slid onto his barstool (yes it was _his_ , thank you very much) and ordered a whiskey with a single gesture. “Mitch Morgan.” 

“Anne Brevers,” she took his proffered hand firmly. She was attractive, Mitch couldn’t deny that. And there was something in the tilt of her head and the look in her eye that made him think there must be some sort of class during college where reporters and journalists learn interviewing techniques. Or maybe it was because she reminded him so much of her, with her angular face and wavy hair and her directness. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Sure,” he shrugged one shoulder and accepted the drink Dalton placed in front of him. “Want something?”

“No, thank you,” Brevers shook her head. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small device - a digital voice recorder, Mitch noticed. Some of his students had used them during his class to get every single detail in his often overly lengthy lectures. “Doctor Morgan,” she began, “how did you first get involved with this whole thing?”

“I was approached by a man,” Mitch told her, “in a bar a lot like this one, actually. He said he had been sent to recruit me to a team of people hand picked to help with a global crisis. I thought he was probably drunker than me, so I ignored him. He was, however, quite persistent.”

“The man,” Brevers pressed, “did he tell you his name?”

Mitch almost blurted it out, but then he remembered who the man had worked for and clamped down on the urge. “George...something,” Mitch drained his drink and slid it back to Dalton for a refill. “He put me on a plane to D.C., where the rest of the team was waiting.”

“The rest of the team. You mean Chloe Tousignant, Jackson Oz, Abraham Kenyatta, and Jamie Campbell?”

“You’ve done your homework,” he saluted her with his newly filled glass. “Yes, there were five of us. We went all over the world following reports of odd animal behavior, trying to narrow down what was wrong. Ultimately, we managed to figure out it was an aberrant mutation causing their aggression.”

“A mutation that caused animals to start attacking and killing humans,” Brevers rephrased. “Sounds like something out of a science fiction novel.”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” Mitch agreed.

“How did you first discover the cure?” Brevers asked.

“Well, first we had to identify what was causing the behavior inside the animals’ brains. Then we got a hold of a catalyst -”

“The Mother Cell,” Brevers interrupted. “That’s the mineral they’re using now to develop the cure?”

“Right,” Mitch went on. “It speeds up chemical processes. We used it to develop the cure.”

“Did you know from the beginning you would be saving the world?”

Mitch toasted her point. “When we first assembled, I think we were all pretty dubious. No one more than me,” he added.

“Do you have any thoughts about Reiden Global?” There was something in her tone, something that nudged urgently at the back of his mind, but he ignored it. 

He cut his eyes to her and tried to keep his tone disinterested. “Why would I have any thoughts about Reiden Global?” His glass was empty, but thankfully he had a friend who could remedy that. “Dalton, can I get a…?” He tapped the rim of his glass.

But Brevers was not deterred. “Just about the rumors floating around that Reiden cut a deal with the government.” There it was - the opening he was looking for. He hadn’t sought her out, hadn’t said anything. Her voice recording would verify that. Still, she seemed to know all about what had happened in the courtroom despite the moratorium on the press. The question was, how much did she know?

“What kind of deal?” 

“To provide your now-famous Mother Cell in an effort to concoct the cure.”

She was good. Almost as good as Jamie. She had the tenacity and spirit to match her, anyway. He wanted to tell her all of it, but the NDA hung over his head like the Sword of Damocles. But maybe he could point her in the right direction. “Why would they do that?”

Brevers seemed to have this answer, too. She’d certainly done her homework. “Well, because in return the government agreed to indemnify Reien and all of its corporate holdings from any malfeasance in connection with the, uh…” Here she trailed off, and Mitch let out a mirthless huff of laughter.

“Yeah, they still haven’t come up with an adequate name for it, have they? Maybe you should come up with one. That’d put you on the journalistic map, wouldn’t it?” Unbidden, he remembered Brazil, and Jamie’s conversation with Luca. “How about the Beast Rebellion? That’s pretty good, no?”

“The rumors don’t end there,” Brevers kept on, her voice now laced with an edge that hadn’t been there before. “There’s talk that you and your friends were forced to sign a non-disclosure agreement in exchange for prosecutorial immunity from the crimes that were committed during the course of your...adventure.”

Her almost smug omniscience was beginning to grate on Mitch’s nerves. “Okay, this isn’t just a puff piece on the gentleman scientist who saved the world, is it?”

The first crack in Brevers’ bravado began to form, and she dropped her eyes slightly. There was something that reminded Mitch so much of Jamie, of that evening in his lecture hall when he realized her interest in Reiden Global was far more than professional. 

“Not really, no,” Brevers admitted. After a moment’s hesitation, she spoke three words that cut through the numbness that had seeped into his soul. “And Jamie Campbell?”

It took everything in him to keep from sneering at the casual use of her name. “What about her?” He was proud of the way his voice didn’t waver.

“Well, this was her white whale, wasn’t it? Her obsession? Reiden?” There it was again, that _something_ that set his back up. 

“That would be tragic, wouldn’t it?” Mitch downed the rest of his drink. “All she wanted to do was bring down Reiden. Expose them.” _Screw the NDA_ , he thought bitterly. “And she did. She died doing it. And now here I am - here we are. We can’t say a damn thing, which means all she ever really cared about essentially died with her, didn’t it?” He hadn’t meant for all of that to come spilling out, but he’d never been particularly good at self-restraint where Jamie Campbell was concerned.

“It is true?” Brevers seemed to completely ignore the fact that she was ripping his heart out by lingering. “Have you been silenced?” _That was it_. She just needed verification of the rumors she’d heard, a source she could use to get the scoop of the century. Because the only thing bigger than the fact that Reiden was responsible for the devastation that had befallen the world was the fact that they had silenced the only possible opposition to their story. And Brevers was looking to make her bones with this scoop. His annoyance with her was quickly ramping up to something resembling indignation.

“She was a reporter, too.” 

There was no doubt to whom he was referring, and Brevers nodded. “I know.”

“And the thing that made her a good reporter was that she understood tenacity and compassion don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

She seemed to have finally realized she’d hit a nerve. “I didn’t mean -”

“I know,” Mitch set his glass down and pushed back. “You should go. Maybe you can get one of those urban transport thugs to bring you home. What with the Beast Rebellion and all.”

“Okay.” She reached out and keyed off her recorder, stowing in her bag next to her notebook and pen. She stood, but she didn’t leave. “Tell me one last thing. Would you say that all hope is lost? That things are only gonna get worse?” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she shifted her weight. “Is all hope, in fact, lost?”

He wanted to tell her no. He wanted to mutter something uplifting about hope never dying as long as they believed. But the words wouldn’t come. And he knew as she turned and walked away without her answer that it was because his own hope had been swallowed by the cold, cruel depths of the ocean.

_New Brunswick, Canada - 15 miles south of Caraquet  
December 29th_

It was like waking up from a dream and wondering if you were still asleep. Jamie’s eyes fluttered open, but her mind refused to work as quickly. Her eyelids felt heavy, and for a moment she felt the soft blankets and the pile of pillows beneath her head and thought she was home. Aunt Fran had always gone overboard when any of them were sick, piling blankets upon blankets and plying them with homemade soup and vitamins until they were better. 

But something was wrong. Her aunt and uncle didn’t have wood-paneled walls, and the way the house creaked was unfamiliar. Her eyes seemed to finally focus and though her brain was still trying to work through whatever haze had settled over her, she was awake enough to know something was wrong.

Her neck was stiff as she moved it, as if it hadn’t been used in a while. Her arms were next, unusually heavy but still functional. The pain in her neck was beginning to trickle downward as she slowly became aware of the rest of her body. Her first conscious thought was almost ludicrous in its randomness.

 _This is not my shirt_.

The sleeves were far too long, for one, and it appeared well-worn. Still, she supposed it was better than being naked (though who had changed her into her new clothes was still a mystery). 

Jamie used her elbows to sit, pushing up as the soreness spread to her chest and back. Her muscles quaked with the movement, and for a moment she was afraid they would give out all together and send her back into her pillows. But they didn’t, and the breath she was holding rushed out as she moved the quilt from her legs.

A large white bandage around her right leg stopped her cold. It was just above her knee, wrapped several layers thick. She ran her hands over it experimentally as she tried to remember how she’d been injured. Or when.

It was like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle together with all of the pieces facing the wrong way. Slowly, though, her mind was beginning to flip those pieces and fill in the blanks. She’d been on a plane. She’d been with her friends. She’d screamed. She’d been cold. And the pain had been so intense she couldn’t breathe.

She pushed her weight to her feet, or at least tried to. Pain lanced up her right leg, and it refused to hold her. She tumbled to the floor with a cry of pain. Her distress had alerted someone, and footsteps heralded the arrival of whoever had saved her. Strong hands grabbed her shoulders, supporting her as she tried to stand. She let them deposit her onto the bed before she turned to face her savior.

“Who are you?” He was older, with a round face and a friendly smile. Still, Jamie had been suckered by a friendly face before. “Where am I?”

She knew he spoke - she could see his lips moving and hear the rumble of his voice - but she couldn’t understand him. Her panic rose as she realized she was in an unknown place with a strange man who apparently didn’t speak a word of English. And where the hell were the others?

“What?” she shook her head. “I don’t...I don’t know what you’re saying.” The man stared blankly back at her, clearly as unable to understand her as she was him. “I was on a plane,” she kept trying. “There were other people with me. Are they okay?” _Was Mitch okay_? Her tongue tripped over her words as fear and desperation swelled in her. “Th-there was a, um, a leopard. A small leopard cub. It’s very important that I find him. Is he okay?” The man said nothing, and Jamie felt like crying. “Do you understand me? You don’t understand me.” A loud gust of wind whistled outside, drawing the man’s attention and causing Jamie to turn. “What?”

White-capped mountains loomed in the distance, barely visible in the growing darkness outside. Snow fell in flurries, blown about by the wind to coat the trees and ground. Suddenly, finding out where she was and where her friends were became insignificant in the face of the question that now flooded her thoughts.

“How long have I been here?” she breathed. When they’d left Africa it had been nearing the end of summer in the Northern Hemisphere. Unless something had pushed them way off course she was likely still north of the Equator, but judging from the picture through her window it was summer no longer. 

Her friends were probably worried. No, scratch that. Her friends probably thought she was dead. 

“I need to find a phone,” she turned back around and sought his eyes, trying to get through to him. “I need to make a phone call.” She moved to stand up, supporting her weight on her good leg, but the man intercepted her. “A phone call.”

She didn’t understand his words but she did understand the meaning behind them. He didn’t want her getting up. “I-I need a phone,” she pleaded. He shook his head and kept speaking over her, gently pushing her until she was back on the bed. “I need a phone. Can you help me find a phone?” He kept pushing. “Can you help me? Please?” But it was useless. He grabbed the quilt, tugging it slightly before stepping back. He held his hands up, pushing slightly in the universal gesture of “stay.” He kept his eyes on her as he backed out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him. A heartbeat later she heard a lock slide into place.

It was clear to Jamie now that she wasn’t his patient - she was his prisoner.

She made herself count to thirty before she stood, bracing her weight against the nightstand until she was sure she could manage it. She clenched her teeth against the pain and managed to hobble to the door. She tried the knob futilely, knowing it wouldn’t open but daring to try anyway. It didn’t budge. She leaned her ear against the wood, listening for any indication where her captor might be. She heard the clink of something that sounded like dishes far away and assumed he was making himself dinner. Her stomach growled at the thought.

She needed to get out here, find a phone, and call Mitch - if he was even alive. It was a horrifying thought, one that sent a chill down her spine. Her breath caught in a way that had nothing to do with the stabbing pain her leg. He could be gone. Forever. 

_Stop it, Jamie_.

It did her no good to dwell on those thoughts. She needed to escape. Through her door, she heard boots tromping around downstairs, then an outer door opened and closed. Jamie made her way to the window, kneeling on her good leg to peer out. 

The man was walking across his yard, past what looked like large piles of junk. She hadn’t noticed it before, but Jamie could clearly see the fence that surrounded the whole property. She watched as the man systematically checked each lock, tugging and making sure it held. One didn’t, and he reached for something on his belt. _Keys_. He had the keys to the locks on his belt. 

A plan formed in her mind. She looked around for something she could use as a weapon but found nothing. She’d have to do it by hand, then. After Ben Schaffer had assaulted her in the hotel room, Jamie had researched self-defense moves in her down time. She wished she’d had the forethought to ask Chloe or Abe to teach her, but what little she’d been able to memorize would have to do.

She heard the man come back inside, stomping his boots to rid them of snow and dirt. More dishes clinked, and Jamie hoped he was getting something to bring to her. Quickly, she grabbed the blankets and molded them on the bed to look like a person sleeping. It wouldn’t pass close inspection, but she didn’t need it to. She just needed him to come inside. Breath held, she waited for his footfalls on the stairs. When they came, she moved to the closet and pulled the door to.

His knock came politely just before he opened the door. She couldn’t see his face, but the tone of his voice told her he was smiling. She waited until he turned to set the tray down on the table to make her move. The door creaked and Jamie winced, but it was too late now. She was committed. He turned at the sound and Jamie lashed out, striking him with the heel of her hand. He cried out and fell back onto the bed stunned. Jamie fumbled for his keys, thankful when they came off the first time.

She heard his protests as she dashed for the stairs, her leg screaming with each step. Adrenaline kept her moving across the kitchen and out the door. She made it almost to the fence line when he emerged from the house, calling out something that she guessed was meant to make her stop. She didn’t.

Her fingers were already numbing in the cold air, and when she grabbed the lock it was like ice. Still she didn’t stop as she searched for the right key. Jamie glanced over her shoulder frantically but didn’t stop her search. 

_There!_

The key turned in the lock, and she shoved the gate open as the man’s shouts grew louder. She took three, maybe four steps before a chorus of growls stopped her short. A bear loomed in the darkness, and at the sight of Jamie he reared up on two legs. A pack of wolves charged, and Jamie froze. This was it; she survived a plane crash only to be taken out by wildlife in an unknown wilderness.

Hands seized her shoulders and pulled her backwards. She cried out as her bad leg took most of her weight and she fell to the ground, but it beat the alternative. The old man slammed the gate just as the wolves crashed against it, snarling and snapping viciously.

“Yah!” the man raised his arms in angry defiance as the beasts continued their assault. Jamie watched in fascinated horror as the realization washed over her.

“You were protecting me,” she breathed. “You were protecting me.” 

He turned to help her up, careful of her right leg. Jamie allowed him to bear her weight and she used him as a crutch as they made their way back to the house. Compared to the freezing snow outside, his kitchen felt like a sauna but Jamie still shivered. He said something to her that sounded soothing, and as he passed her his hand on her shoulder was warm and comforting. 

When he returned he settled a heavy blanket on her shoulders, and Jamie clutched the corners tightly around her as he moved to the stove. There was water still in the kettle, and he relit the stove and began preparing a mug of tea. Jamie could hear her heart pounding and fought for something to drown it out.

“Thank you,” she said. “For saving me.” The man turned with a smile and a nod; he knew her tone, if not her words. “What’s your name?” He nodded again, and Jamie realized he didn’t understand. She let go of the blanket to lay a hand on her chest. “Jamie.”

The kettle whistled, and he used a towel to lift it from the burner and pour her tea. He brought the mug to her and pushed it into her hands with another smile. “Anik.”

“Anik,” Jamie repeated. “Thank you, Anik.”

_IADG Headquarters  
January 4th_

Mitch kept his head down as he navigated the maze of corridors in what had once been some sort of office building. Amelia Sage and her team had converted it for their purposes months ago, before they contacted Chloe, before they recruited Delavane from underneath Reiden’s nose. And that had been a shock. Seeing the man walking freely among them still irritated him, but so long as Chloe said he was being useful then Mitch could ignore him.

The war room was little more than a small meeting room converted for the purpose. A reinforced door with an expensive digital lock had replaced the simple wooden one, and Mitch fumbled in his pocket for his key card as he approached. The light turned green and he turned the handle a little harder than necessary, announcing his presence so he didn’t actually have to say anything.

Chloe turned at the sound, and her already smiling face brightened even more when she saw him. Her excitement was palpable as she dashed over. “We got one.”

“I heard,” Mitch nodded. “We sure it’s viable?”

“The team is preparing it for transport now,” Chloe led him back to a very fancy series of screens and consoles. Amelia Sage was overseeing the final stages, barking orders into a headset as Chloe pointed out the team’s location on the map.

“They found it here,” she said. “That’s within the zone you gave us.”

Mitch had mapped out an area in Zambia where they were likely to find leopards that had not been tainted by Reiden Global. It was a small area. “How long before it arrives?”

“Twelve hours,” Sage answered, turning from the console. “In twelve hours we’ll have the leopard.”

“Then in twelve and a half hours, you’ll have the cure.” Mitch crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Chloe. “Why did you call me here now?” 

Her excitement turned to guilt, and Mitch dropped his arms and turned for the door. Chloe followed. “Mitch, wait.” He stopped in the hall, and Chloe closed the door to the war room behind her. “I haven’t seen you in weeks,” she admitted. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“You could have called.”

“You stopped answering my calls,” she replied. 

Mitch leaned back against the wall and resumed his previous posture. “Yeah, well, I’ve been busy.” 

Chloe didn’t try to mask her eyeroll. “Doing what? Drinking yourself to an early grave?” Mitch scoffed but Chloe persisted. “Don’t think I don’t know what you do in your spare time. Jackson says you’re never home when he knocks.”

Mitch smirked. “Sometimes I am, I just don’t answer.”

“Mitch!” Chloe’s tone was half-admonishment, half-amusement. Mitch thought he saw a smile on her face, but she turned away so he couldn’t see. “It’s been four months since the crash.”

“Four months and thirteen days,” he corrected. 

When she turned back her face had soften to something resembling sympathy. “Four months and thirteen days. It’s time to move on, Mitch.”

He shoved off the wall so quickly she had to twist to avoid being overrun by him. He stalked away from her, but knew he’d never get far. She was persistent. 

“Mitch, please talk to me,” her legs were just as long as his and kept up with his pace easily. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he growled, turning a corner sharply. Chloe adjusted her gait and matched him again.

“Of course there is,” she pushed. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be so miserable.”

“So what?” He stopped abruptly and whirled on her. She didn’t back away from his sneer. “I tell you all of my deepest, darkest feelings and suddenly I feel oh so much better? Is that it?”

“ _Rien ne pèse tant qu'un secret_ ,” she whispered. He remembered enough of their time together in Rio to understand her words.

“What do you want me to say?” he shouted. “That I miss her every damn day? That I can’t close my eyes without seeing her face?” Mitch swallowed thickly, surprised by his own words. Now that he’d begun, he couldn’t seem to stop. “That I do everything I can not to fall asleep, and when I inevitably lose that fight I relive the crash over and over. I hear her calling for me, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to save her. I can’t count the number of times I’ve started to dial her number, only to realize nobody’s gonna answer it. Every time it feels like someone’s ripping my heart out of my chest.” Chloe’s face began to blur as his eyes filled with tears. Mitch was thankful there wasn’t anyone around to witness this.

“We all miss her,” Chloe reached out and took his hand, “but none of us loved her like you did. I can’t imagine what you are going through, but I want to help you. Tell me what to do.”

Mitch mouthed moved, opening and closing again as he fought for something to say. Nothing came. Nothing but more tears. Chloe moved quickly, wrapping her arms around him as he broke, sobbing into her shoulder as months of pent up grief and helplessness finally erupted. It crashed over him like an ocean wave, cresting and breaking against his ribs as he clung tightly to the only anchor he could find. Chloe, for her part, didn’t utter a word. She just let him cry, and when he was finished she stepped back and waited for him to compose himself.

“Feel better?” 

Mitch cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered. 

“Good,” she seemed not to feel any of the awkward embarrassment that was now creeping up his cheeks. “I need to call Jackson and tell him we found the leopards. You will be alright getting home?”

“Uh, yeah,” Mitch sniffed and straightened up. “I’ll have one of Sage’s goons drive me.”

“They are international crisis agents, not goons,” Chloe teased. “Be safe.”

“You, too.” He watched her leave, waiting until she was out of sight before turning to go. Despite his cathartic release, he still felt a heaviness in his soul that would probably never go away. _And_ , Mitch thought as he stepped out into the early evening air, _there’s only one place to go for that_.

Two hours later Mitch picked himself up off of the pool table. His lip was busted and his nose was bleeding, but nothing was broken. Who knew businessmen could throw down like that? Dalton was on the ground groaning from the blow he’d taken coming to Mitch’s defense. Mitch thought he shouldn’t have bothered.

“You alright?” He held out a hand for the older man, pulling him to stand as his own ribs protested the movement. They had healed up just fine, but the three (or was it four?) punches he’d taken had reminded him that they’d been broken rather recently.

“Fine, fine,” Dalton waved him off and stooped down to pick up the crowbar he’d grabbed. “You’re lucky he didn’t shoot you.”

“Waste of ammo,” Mitch waved off his gruff concern. “Besides, I expected Bomba here to come to my aid.” The pug whined and laid his head down, promptly ignoring Mitch’s offended scoff.

“Well, you probably saved his life,” Dalton reached down and grabbed a bottle of dark liquid. “Drinks are on me tonight.”

No one else came in the rest of the night, though Mitch guessed that had something to do with the recent zoo breakout than anything. Still, he supposed the ones who’d scurried away at the sight of a gun wouldn’t be back.

“Well, Bomba,” he sipped on the water Dalton had set in front of him, “looks like it’s just me and you again.”

“Closing time, man.” Dalton had already wiped down the tables and the bar. All that was left was Mitch’s dirty glass.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You’ll be able to get home alright?”

“Oh yeah,” Mitch shrugged on the jacket he’d discarded earlier. “What can the animals do to me that the humans haven’t done already?” His phone rang from deep within his pocket, and he reached in and fished it out. The screen was blank - an unknown number again - and he pressed the green button before he could talk himself into ignoring it.

“Mitch Morgan, totally awesome scientist.” It was his new greeting, courtesy of Chloe herself. She’d reprimanded him for his lack of professionalism whenever he talked to the team of scientists. He’d promised (with his tongue in his cheek) to do better.

“Mitch?” A ghost spoke through the line, and every hair on the back of his neck stood up. “Mitch can you hear me? It’s me. It’s Jamie.”

A dozen nameless emotions warred in his chest, all fighting to burst through with the pounding of his heart. This wasn’t possible, his rational mind argued. 

“No it isn’t,” he denied. “Jamie’s dead. Who...who is this? You don’t even sound like her.” It was a lie. The voice on the other end of the line sounded so much like her that he had to clench his jaw to keep from weeping. This was impossible; Jamie simply couldn’t be alive. It went against everything he knew to be true as a man of science and a man of reason.

“Okay, are you gonna stop being an ass for a second and listen to me? It is me. I am alive. And I’m really glad you are, too.”

She’d always been the exception to the rule.

The pressure in his chest finally burst, and hope blossomed once more like a flower emerging through winter snows. “It really is you.” He didn’t bother hiding his tears. They ran unchecked down his face as he pressed the phone against his ear. 

“It’s really good to hear your voice.” He could hear her tears, too, and as he echoed the sentiment a sound sweeter than anything danced over the line. She laughed.

“I still have it,” she said. “I still have the leopard. I have the cure.”

Two miracles, then. “Okay, uh...” he took a moment to process her words. Chloe had called him earlier that evening to tell him the leopard they’d gotten today wasn’t viable. She had promised to call back if anything changed, but he could hear the desperation in her voice. This had been their last chance. Until now. “You still have it.”

“The man who saved me, he must have pulled the crate out of the ocean when he found me.” She sounded good, healthy, and Mitch finally realized she’d been gone for four months.

“Where the hell are you?”

“Canada, according to the maps,” she answered. “New Brunswick.” She was less than a thousand miles away.

“And you just now got to a phone?” He didn’t mean to sound so angry, but the relief that had permeated every cell in his body was slowly dissipating, leaving something darker in its wake. She’d been so close this whole time, and he’d had no idea.

Jamie seemed to understand, but there was an edge in her voice when she answered. “Anik doesn’t speak English, but from what I’ve been able to guess I’ve been in and out of consciousness for most of it. My leg’s just about healed and -”

“Your leg?” Mitch’s frustration quickly evaporated at the reminder that she’d survived the same plane crash that had killed forty-seven people. _Forty-six_ , his mind corrected happily.

“Yeah,” she replied. “A piece of the fuselage embedded in my thigh during the crash. I couldn’t put any weight on it for a while, but it’s getting better.” There was a beat of silence, but she went on before he could fill it. “Where are you?”

“D.C., actually,” he said. “We all are. Things have been...bad.”

“Anik doesn’t have a TV or any other way to contact the outside world other than this satellite phone. What’s going on?”

He opened his mouth to tell her everything, but he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell her over the phone that Reiden hadn’t been indicted, or even reprimanded for their part in the animal crisis. He couldn’t tell her they were leading the global initiative for the cure. And he certainly couldn’t tell her about their gag order.

He settled for a half-truth. “There’s too much to tell you in one phone call. Do you know where you are exactly?”

“Yeah,” he heard her shuffling some papers. “Uh, the map here is not very detailed, but it looks like we’re about fifteen miles south of Caraquet.”

“South?”

“South-ish,” she corrected. “Look, I’m not a military navigator. It’s like a few degrees left of due south, just on the other side of a river.”

“Okay,” he stood up and started for the door. “I’m gonna contact the others and let them know, then we’re coming to get you.” 

“Okay. Can you do me a favor before you leave?”

“Anything,” he promised.

“Can you have someone call my aunt and uncle to let them know I’m not dead?”

He grinned then, the first he’d felt stretch his face in a long time. “I’ll do it myself.” He stopped at the door, suddenly overwhelmed by the last few moments. He reached out to steady himself against the wall as the world spun. “I’m just...I still can’t believe...you have no idea how happy I am right now.”

“Oh, I think I do,” she was smiling, too. 

“I love you.” He blurted it so fast, he thought she might have missed it for the silence that stretched on. Then he heard her hiccuping sobs on the other end and he knew she’d heard him.

“I love you, too, Mitch. Hurry.”

“I will. If I can threaten enough people, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She laughed at his joke, though he hadn’t really been kidding. He was going to wake every single person connected with the IADG until he found someone to take him New Brunswick.

“Goodbye.” He waited until he heard the line disconnect, then slipped the phone back into his pocket.

“That was her?” Dalton’s voice came from almost right behind him, and when Mitch turned the man was there with a two small glasses. The fizz in one told Mitch that Dalton was celebrating with soda, but Mitch’s glass was half-full of what appeared to be a very fine scotch.

“That was her,” Mitch confirmed. “She’s alive.”

“That’s amazing news, man. I’m happy for you.” He raised his glass in a toast, and Mitch clinked his glass against it before sipping the dark liquid. It was very smooth. 

“You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Annette gave me that bottle for my birthday a few weeks before she died. Even at my lowest, I couldn’t bring myself to open it.” He finished his own soda as Mitch took another appreciative drink.

“Thank you,” Mitch said. “And not just for this. For...everything, I guess.”

“You go get that girl of yours and bring her home. When you get back, you two can split the rest of that bottle.” Mitch transferred his glass to his left hand to grasp Dalton’s hand, trying to convey the depth his gratitude through the simple contact.

“Thanks again.”

As he finished his drink and stepped out into the frigid night air, he pulled out his cell once more. He found Chloe’s number and pressed the call button, his entire body thrumming with energy. She picked up after four rings.

“Mitch?” Her voice was slurred with sleep, and Mitch realized how late it was.

“Yeah, sorry. Listen, I have amazing news.” The scotch was warm in his belly as his long strides ate up the distance between Dalton’s and his apartment.

“At two in the morning?” Chloe had never been a morning person - he remembered that from their travels together - but she sounded even more irritable than usual.

Mitch’s next words were sure to change that. “Jamie’s alive.”

She didn’t answer right away, and when she did speak her tone had shifted from agitation to sympathy. “Mitch…”

“No, I know. It’s impossible. Except I just got off the phone with her. She survived the crash, Chloe. She’s alive.” He glanced around as he rounded the last corner for home. It would be tragic to find out Jamie was alive only to be killed on his way to get her.

“Have you been drinking?”

“A little,” he admitted. “I’m not drunk. And I didn’t dream it either,” he cut off her next protest before she could utter it. “You can trace my last phone call if you want. It was her.”

“That’s…”

There really weren’t any words to describe it, so he didn’t blame her for not finishing her sentence. “Listen, we need transportation to New Brunswick. She said she was about fifteen miles south of Caraquet just on the other side of some river.” Mitch stepped into the foyer of his building and made a beeline for his apartment. “There’s more,” he told her as he slid his key into the door. “She still has the leopard.”

“What?” Chloe was awake now. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Mitch laughed. “And honestly I didn’t ask. It doesn’t matter. She’s alive, and she has the only means for the cure left in the world.”

“Okay.” Something rustled on her end and Mitch wondered if she was getting out of bed now. “I’ll go to headquarters and see about getting us transportation. I imagine knowing we still have a chance at the cure will be enough to motivate them to send someone immediately. Can you text me the information she gave you about her position?”

“Yeah,” Mitch locked the door behind him and moved to the couch. His legs gave out just as he reached it. “I still can’t believe it.”

“It’s incredible,” she agreed. “Have you told the others?”

“No,” Mitch leaned back and covered his eyes with his free hand. “Honestly, I’m still trying to process it all.”

“Okay, I’ll call Jackson and have him call Abe. Let’s all meet outside IADG headquarters tomorrow morning at eight. I should be able to get us transport by then.” She was up now, he could hear her messing around in the kitchen.

“Alright. Tomorrow, then.”

“Get some sleep, Mitch.” She hung up, leaving him in the silence of his apartment. And, for the first time in six months, it didn’t bother him. He kicked off his shoes and slid sideways to lay on the couch knowing that, for tonight at least, his demons would be quiet.

_Anik's Home  
New Brunswick, Canada_

Her strength grew each day, and so did her anxiety. She tried to talk to Anik, to make him understand she needed a phone, but he just didn’t understand. Six days after she woke up, she found an old journal with a pen in the basement. Its pages were filled with writing she couldn’t decipher, but she managed a crude drawing of a phone on the first blank page. 

When he saw the drawing, Anik tapped the page thoughtfully. He said a word that Jamie didn’t quite catch and dashed out the door. Jamie watched him go but didn’t follow, hopeful that he’d gotten her message. Hope turned to surprise when she heard his truck start. Through the window she watched him drive away and tried to figure out how he’d completely misunderstood her intention. She looked down at her drawing, at the curved shape of an old receiver. She thought it was a reasonable facsimile. She’d even added a curly cord on one end. There was no way he could have mistaken it for anything other than a phone.

“Might as well do something productive,” she muttered, standing from the kitchen table to hobble up the stairs. Anik had given her run of the upper level of the house, and in that time she’d taken a shower every day. Jamie hated the cold, and Anik had a hot water heater that was enough to let her take a hot shower for half an hour each day. When she wasn’t under the warm spray, she was wrapped in a blanket to ward off the chill. Even in the middle of the day, it didn’t rise above freezing. Jamie needed to get out of here fast.

Jamie shut off the water before the temperature dropped. Her skin was warmed, but she knew from experience it wouldn’t last. The moment she stepped out of the tub she felt the cold seeping in, and she dried and dressed quickly. She towel-dried her hair as much as she could and started to finger-comb it when she heard Anik’s truck returning.

Excitement sent her running through the door and down the stairs, still mindful of her healing injuries. She remembered the blanket at the last minute, shrugging it around her shoulders as she pushed through the back door. 

Anik was carrying a yellow case, and Jamie reached for it gratefully. “A phone,” she took it from him and hugged it to her chest. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Here it was, her lifeline. A line to Mitch. “Thank you, thank you.”

She turned back to the house, her mind already repeating the ten digits that would connect her to her home. Because that’s what he was...her home. She hadn’t had one in such a long time that she’d forgotten what it felt like. No matter where she’d gone after Folsom, she could never find that indescribable something, that soulful joy that filled her up whenever she thought about her hometown. Now, though, with the means to call her family, her friends, people she’d known her entire life...all she could think about was his smile. There was a tiny voice in the back of her mind warning her that he could be dead. She could dial his number and never get an answer. Worse yet, she could dial his number and reach a complete stranger.

 _No_. Just as she did a week ago, she shrugged off those thoughts and marched toward the house with her prize. Only the sight of an old wooden crate deterred her. She’d seen that crate before, sitting next to her on the plane.

“Wait,” she shifted the phone case to one hand and turned to Anik. The implication of the box’s presence sent her mind into overdrive, and she stammered her way through her next words. “There was a...there was a cub in there. In the box, a cub,” she began to gesture frantically as Anik muttered something in his own language. “A leopard cub. A small,” she pleaded with him, trying to convey through charades and desperate pointing what she meant. “Do you know where he is? Is he okay?”

“ _Posivak_?” Anik asked.

“Posivak?” Jamie repeated. 

“ _Posivak_.” Anik nodded and began walking away. Jamie followed him around the house to an area she’d never seen. Her window faced the back of the yard, and she’d never had a reason to investigate the front of the property before. Now she wished she had.

Pacing back and forth within the confines of a small fenced area was a leopard. No, it was the leopard. He wasn’t so little anymore, now resembling the beasts that had attacked their campsite rather than the adorable, mewling kitten that had lived in her pack.

“ _Posivak_ ,” Anik declared proudly, and Jamie laughed with relief. 

“Posivak.”

Anik patted her shoulder warmly and left her alone, off to tend to whatever he did during the days. Jamie clutched her prize against her chest, staring in wonder for a moment more at the pair of miracles that had been given to her. 

Finally the urge to reconnect with Mitch grew too strong, and she limped as quickly as she could to the stairs at the side of the house. She pulled the satellite phone from the case and began dialing, aware that the trembling in her fingers had nothing to do with the cold.

It rang once, twice, three times. Jamie’s heart dropped into her stomach. _No, he can’t be -_

“Mitch Morgan, totally awesome scientist.”

Jamie clutched the phone to her chest for almost five full minutes after saying goodbye. _He’s coming_ , she told herself, repeating it over and over in her mind. Hearing his voice, _knowing_ he had survived - and the others, too! - did more for her spirit than she thought possible. Despite her constant companion, Jamie had felt a shroud of loneliness over her that stifled most of her emotions and muted the beauty of the countryside around her. Anik had offered to take her out for a drive, but the threat of bears, wolves, and who knew what else out there kept her firmly inside the safety of the fence line.

But talking to Mitch, listening to him fight every emotion she, too, was warring with, hearing his steadfast promise that he was coming to get her...Jamie felt hope again for the first time since she’d woken up in a stranger’s bed.

Anik looked up when she set the phone case down on the table. She didn’t understand the words, but his inquiring smile was enough to make her grin.

“My friends are on their way,” she told him. He nodded like he understood. She wanted to tell him to come with her, to get away from the animals and find shelter in a safe zone. But even if he understood, she knew he would never leave. This was his home, and he’d already built a fence to protect it. He wouldn’t leave it.

She left him sitting in the kitchen and made her way back outside. During the day the cold wasn’t quite as biting, and the sun made it seem warmer than it was. She sat down an arm’s length from the enclosure where the leopard was still pacing.

“Not long now,” she told him. “We’ll get you back to the states and make the cure, set things right.” Things were bad, Mitch had told her. She couldn’t imagine what it was like now. Things had escalated so quickly in the three short months since the lions had escaped in Los Angeles; six months later things were probably approaching apocalyptic levels. 

She thought about her conversation with Mitch and his promise to do everything possible to get to her quickly. Just the memory of his laugh felt good, like turning down the gravel drive in Folsom or hearing her aunt’s voice call her for dinner. The sense of _home_ settled in her bones and she simply let it wash over her.

 _He’s coming_ , she reminded herself. _I’m going home._

**Author's Note:**

> There it is. The end of season 1. I will be on vacation from June 23rd thru July 3rd. Hopefully I'll get some writing done, but I make no promises. Season 3 premieres on the 29th, so there will be MUCH hype. Follow me on Tumblr @snake-hyena-bear-lion to keep up with Zoo stuff there.


End file.
